


Day 13: Breathe In & Breathe out &  Day 14: Is Something Burning

by Fight_Surrender



Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Artistic Liberties, Baz gets rescued, Fire, I Tried, I know nothing about firefighters, M/M, Simon is a Fireman, Whumptober 2020, please don't @me, there's a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/pseuds/Fight_Surrender
Summary: Simon is just doing his job. He does it well: get in, put out the fire. Rescue whoever needs rescuing. Get out.It's pretty simple.When he rescues the man with the astonishing grey eyes, things get a little more complicated.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950466
Comments: 18
Kudos: 119
Collections: Simon saves Baz, Whumptober 2020





	Day 13: Breathe In & Breathe out &  Day 14: Is Something Burning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Hello. I have written this over the last 18 hours (most of which I was sleeping). I did minimal fire rescue research for this so please bear with me. The technique Simon uses to get Baz down the ladder is the "vertical victim technique" that I found in an actual article (that I would link to here, but I don't speak html and I don't have time to look that up rn. DM me if you want to see what it looks like bc I'm sure my description isn't great). I looked it up when I started thinking about how firefighters actually get people down ladders. There are also some good articles about what it's like to be a fireman, but my research was definitely not exhaustive so I took many liberties. 
> 
> As usual, pardon the typos and grammar shenanigans, this is not beta'd. 
> 
> The actual prompts are: Day 13- Breathe In Breathe Out- Oxygen Mask & Day 14- Is Something Burning- Fire

Same fire. Different house.

Around me is a cacophony of hisses, pops and roars as the blaze consumes its prey. The black smoke shifting to white as the water from my hose blasts into steam. The only steady sound is the hiss of my breath through the oxygen mask. I can’t see a damn thing. I fight the urge to wipe my visor, I know it won’t change anything. I coast on adrenaline and the sixth sense that guides me through the maelstrom.

I hear a faint voice to my right. I think I’m in a bedroom. I follow the sound. “Anyone in here?” I call out into the fray.

“Here,” A male voice calls. Flashes of porcelain. I’m in a bathroom, there is a figure in the tub _. They always hide in the tub._

“Allright then,” I reach over to him, “Let’s get you out of here.”

He takes my hand, and I haul him out of the tub. I train a blast of the hose at a lick of flame that’s creeping on the ceiling. It curls to black and steam.

“What’s your name?” I say.

“Baz,” he coughs. He’s just at the edge of consciousness.

“Ok, Baz. Hold on, we’re going out the window.” I half drag him across the sodden room. I should probably give him a hit off of my oxygen, but I want to get him out of here before the fire catches again.

A blast of heat hits and I duck, taking him with me.

We make it to the window

“I’m not a damsel in distress, you know,” the guy under my arm mutters. I don’t know how I hear him over the din.

“I can agree you’re no damsel,” I say, before backing out the window.

Baz doubles over, wracked by a paroxysm of coughing. “Ok I’m in a little distress.”

“Come on then, out the window, facing me,” I instruct. Getting victims out the window and down multiple stories of ladder is tricky. Easier when they’re unconscious to be honest.

“I can climb down on my own, you don’t—” the victim wavers and starts to cough again.

“Nah, mate. We’re three stories up and your lungs have taken a beating. You can’t even walk onto an elevator in this condition. Do what I say.”

What little fight he had left seems to go out of him. He shakes his head. His hair is long and black.

I back down the ladder a step or two. “Now there’s a trick to this. I need you to climb out with your back to the ladder, knees over my shoulders—legs down my back. Then you just slide down the ladder while I descend.”

“You lost me at knees over your shoulders,” Baz grumbles.

“Just do it. Come on, this building won’t be standing for long,” _I really prefer unconscious victims_.

The guy wavers as he climbs out, placing his bare thighs, clad in black boxer briefs over my shoulders. I refuse to notice that he’s wearing fuzzy purple socks and no shirt. _He sleeps in fuzzy socks_. My ridiculous heart stutters. I start my descent.

“Normally, when my crotch is in a guys face, I’ve bought him dinner first,” rumbles black boxer guy from just above my head.

Jesus. It is a really nice crotch. Preceded by a V-cut. Six pack, a fine line of black hairs leading down…Fucks sake. The flush of heat I feel has nothing to do with the blaze surrounding us. I need to get laid. I need to focus on my actual job.

We get to the bottom of the ladder and I sling semi-conscious boxer guy over my shoulder. I probably don’t need to, I could make him walk. But my caveman urges compel me to carry him. I deposit him with the EMT’s. I take off my helmet and visor to breathe fresh air for a moment. And maybe to peep at Baz’s face. He’s slumped on a gurney, speaking quietly to the tech. He’s gorgeous. I hear something about a cat.

I put my helmet on and head back into the fire.

I am definitely in this inferno looking for human victims and mitigating property damage. I’m definitely not looking for the hot guy’s missing cat.

Five more minutes, that’s it. “Here kitty, kitty,” I call into the dark. This section is mostly clear, eerily quiet save the occasional drop of water and shouts of firemen from outside. I hear a faint cry from the kitchen. “Kitty?” I say. I can’t believe I’m in here looking for a cat, what the hell am I thinking? Not with my brain, that’s for sure.

Another faint meow. It’s coming from behind the refrigerator. I move it to reveal a small Siamese kitten with huge cerulean eyes. Well shit. That’s fucking cute. I scoop it up into my coat as my oxygen tank starts to beep the low-level alarm. Time’s up.

I climb down as the crew chiefs declare the blaze contained. The kitten mewls inside my coat, I’m hoping no one from the station hears it. I’ll never live this down if they do.

Baz is still at the med truck. Breathing oxygen from a mask, huddled under a thick wool blanket. He doesn’t notice my approach. “This yours?” I say, pulling out the kitten.

He pulls off the mask. A slow, smile breaks across his face as he takes the kitten. “Yes. Hello Daphne,” he whispers to the cat, sliding his fingers across her chin. The kitten purrs with astonishing gusto. He looks up at me. “You’re the guy from earlier.” His smile goes crooked. There’s a single dimple. A jet-black eyebrow quirks. “Rescue from a burning building. Your face in my crotch. Now a kitten. You really know how to win a guy over.” The smile widens.

His eyes—they’re—I am caught. Like a fish on a hook. “What color are your eyes?” I can’t stop myself, “Is that normal or do you have a disease?” I feel my face go scarlet, _what the fuck did I just say_?

His eyebrows go up, they’re lovely too. “Grey. Normal. I’m disease free—as far as I can tell.” The smoke inhalation must have gotten to his head because he seems totally nonplussed by the idiocy of my question.

Baz looks up at me and narrows his eyes. He takes a sharp inhale, then collapses into another paroxysm of coughing. The cat sqawks but stays put.

“Are you—?”

He holds up a finger. When he collects himself again, he blinks. “So, this is probably some kind of Stockholm syndrome thing, and I’m probably in shock, but—.” He runs shaky fingers through his slick hair. Brilliant flashes of red and blue cast his sharp features in relief. Ephemeral. He looks up at me again, “Do you want to grab a drink sometime?”

My heart thumps in my chest. This is it. This is the story we tell our kids. How we met. “Yeah. _Let’s do that._ ” I hold out my hand, still in it’s thick glove, coated in soot and muck. “Name’s Simon. Simon Snow.”

He takes my hand. “Baz Pitch.”

I only realize everything had gone quiet, when the sound comes back. Sirens as police continue to arrive. Ambulances come and go. Shouts of the fire crew. The quiet din of onlookers, gathered to bear witness, grateful it wasn’t their house. I risk looking again—at those eyes. I want to get lost. Dive in. Immerse. “I’ve got to—go.” I’ve never felt so reluctant to return to the lonely camaraderie of the station. “How will I find you?”

That fucking brow again. “I know where you work,” he says. I want to lick that smirk off his face.

“Find me, yeah?” I’ve still got his hand in mine.

“Yeah,” he says softly, letting my hand go to wrap the blanket tighter around his shoulders. My eyes hold his just a tick more, then I let myself be pulled back into the crowd.


End file.
